


all right because there's you

by moonji



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Description Heavy, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickness, i'm sorry you guys, it's cute tho(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonji/pseuds/moonji
Summary: There's a certain level of joy one can find in anything; for Donghyuck, it's Mark.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	all right because there's you

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm posting this because I'm pretty proud I finished it after having a writing hiatus. And no, this isn't me saying I'm coming back for good. I'm still working on fixing my goals and all that jazz. But this just literally came to me, I guess. So I wanted to share it to you guys!
> 
> Also, it's kind of a MEH moment (and un-beta'd so yahh). As said, I've been on hiatus so there are bound to be holes and mistakes. I'm UBER rusty right now. I hope you like it still though! It's pretty short so..... here goes!

There's a certain amount of joy you can find in anything, Donghyuck grew up believing. Whether it be during the process of doing something or the product of one's actions. For him, amidst everything that's happened to him, he finds joy in Mark.  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
"Hello, sunshine," Mark greets, a warm smile on his face as he enters the room, gently opening the door and slipping the cart in before closing it just as carefully. "How have you been?" he asks while he neared Donghyuck, his voice a soft cradling that stirred the latter's insides pleasantly.  
  
Donghyuck couldn't help the smile that stretched his lips, his chest a little lighter than it had been minutes ago, a particular feeling of warmth blooming on his face as the man sits on the stall beside his bed, body slouched comfortably. "Hi, Mark. I'm fine, thank you for always asking," he replies, schooling himself to speak with an air of nonchalance as opposed to giddiness.  
  
The man chuckles lightly, bringing up a hand to Donghyuck's head and shuffling his hair, saying, "You're welcome," before twisting his body to fetch Donghyuck's first meal of the day. The latter freely observes the combination of fruits and vegetables laid in front of him, silently wishing he could taste something new for once but still grateful to be able to consume food that hadn't been blended to one unidentifiable flavor.  
  
"I present to you meal number one," Mark says, enthusiasm lacing his voice that Donghyuck could almost feel the taste of heaven on his tongue. The way Mark said it made the food so enticing, Donghyuck thinks to himself, a ghost of what seemed to be laughter trailing his lips for a brief second.  
  
He smiles again, weakly getting the spoon and fork the other handed him, digging into his food and showing much enthusiasm as he can to match Mark's energy. He doesn't want the other to view his worsening state although he knows Mark is very much informed. He wants to show only the best sides of himself, so if he goes, Mark would remember him not as a bad memory but as someone who lived his life quite happily despite hanging on inevitable death.  
  
When he's done eating, Mark asks, "What do you want to do today, sunshine?" and when Donghyuck stared right into his eyes, there was a certain twinkle he wanted to hold on to, a sick twitch of hope in his degrading guts. It was beautiful, ethereal, something he never wants to leave behind.  
  
"I want to make paper boats."  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
As he aged from babyhood, Donghyuck always knew there was a distinguishable difference between him and other younglings born of the same year; nothing too involved with the emotional aspect of himself but rather the state of their physical being. He was a kid and he behaved like so -- playful, ever so imaginative. But it always seemed that even though his mind was the same as theirs, his body couldn't keep up.  
  
Day by day it felt as though he'd lost an iota of his lifespan, his legs crippling until he felt too weak to walk, arms limping until he could only exert a whole day's worth of strength and willingness into mere hours, mind slowly losing power over his body.  
  
His minutes at his school's infirmary turned to hours, and those hours turned to days -- in the hospital where all he could do was cry and bawl over his slowly creeping demise. Minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months -- and eventually months until everything stops.  
  
Donghyuck is dying to live, but he's living to die.  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
"I'm sorry to tell you this, but," the words that trail out of their family doctor's lips are heavy and they settle in the air like hollow blocks, visibly weighing down Donghyuck's mother's shoulders as she sinks into herself, her filtered sobs mingling with the atrocious sound of death in Donghyuck's ears. But before the the man could even finished, he's politely escorted outside by the boy's father, his jaw looking as if a lock tightly shut, his eyes rounded painfully with redness.  
  
The door closes with ominous silence, only Donghyuck's heartbeat disrupting the quiet whirring of the machines connected to his very being. He breathes, switching his line of sight to the small rectangular area of the door made transparent by well-kept glass. His eyes trace over their figure, thousands of thoughts flashing before his eyes, texts unreadable but somehow understable.  
  
Donghyuck doesn't quite hear the doctor's next words, but the movement of his lips was something he could decipher. "He doesn't have more than a year to live." It's soft, the high pitch that deafens his ears, and slow -- painfully lengthened inside his head as if he was a broken player.  
  
He grows numb, number than he'd ever been, almost as if sumberged in ice for far too long, mind not quite registering the sentence but accepting the meaning spoken out. His mouth is shut, his chest constricting as the seconds tick by, body akin to goo while the room fills with hoffible sounds of desperation from the outside, letting the idea of Donghyuck's blackened future simmer devastatingly in his weakened body.  
  
Silent tears run down the sides of his face while he watches his mother and father break down, now the transparency of the outside a curse. He lets his heart break, over and again with every tear that escaped his eyes, body shaking without any sound, sadness permeating the clean hospital air.  
  
He heaves a breath, his heart shattering in the background, pieces turning black and fading to ash, oxygen tasting like blood as it travels down his chest, saliva an ugly magnificent red sputtering from his moving lips. _It hurts. Why me?_ on the back of his head plays repeatedly, volume getting louder and louder as the three people outside fade to black.  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't help much." His stare on the few paper boats he had made is cold, bordering hateful, his arms limp on the tray laid hoving above his lap. "My hands aren't good these days," he continues, the corners of his eyes heating up, and Donghyuck wants nothing to do but to hide his hands from the world.   
  
They look too delicate in a way that makes him feel more vulnerable, some beautiful, sophisticated purples and deep maroons with edges of moss green blossoming on non-select spots, like flowers so special they're of rarity. But Donghyuck doesn't want them -- he doesn't want the garden growing on his body. He doesn't want to be reminded of the earth; the element in which he'd meld after he wilts.  
  
"Hey, it's okay. It's okay. At least I'm spending time with you. There's nothing I could ask more." Mark's thumb runs across Donghyuck's cheeks, carefully wiping his tears away, a calm look on his face contrasted by the tidal waves swirling in his eyes. A smile stretches his lips, but it's fairly obvious how the edges twitched, an underlying threat of a frown surfacing. _But I could,_ Donghyuck bites back, acid on his throat, climbing up, slow and burning he wanted to gag. He doesn't -- and more tears cascade down the reddened apples of his face.  
  
Not sooner, a shuffling disturbs his cries before warmth engulfs him, caging him in a bubble of safety, feeding his distressed soul comfort, casting out the idea of his unavoidable expiration for the shortest while, and letting him feel as though he is untouchable. However, the tears that manage to slip past his lips make the new memory taste bittersweet, a lingering taste of melancholy imprinted on his tongue that desperately chased for happiness.  
  
It's everything that he could ask for, but so much lesser than he needs.  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
"You'll get better soon, son. We'll hire the best doctors to treat you." There's a wobbling in his father's voice that Donghyuck wanted to pay no attention to, but caught on quickly, tone laced with the tiniest pinch of despair that had slipped out. He also didn't want to feel his father's touch -- the way it subtly shook above his -- as it felt as though he was back standing again, feeling the world shake below his feet, salvation unclear and porably non-existent. But he swallows the choking sensation prevalent on his throat, forcing his face to light up in assurance, putting on whatever facade he could manage.  
  
"I'll get better, dad. And we could play all the feild games in the world." He hears his heart crack again, as if what remained of it weren't the tiniest shards, but remains steadfast on making his father -- the wall and roof that has sheltered him -- feel even the littlest of relief. "You don't need to worry. I'm your son after all." He doesn't miss the way his father's features contort with every word that leaves his mouth; the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled, how the tiny smile on his face quivered, the way how he looked as if years were slipping him by within seconds.  
  
Donghyuck could only choke on his unshed tears, smile undisrupted even when his father leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, bid him goodnight, and slip past the door before he wiping the beautiful sparkling tears on his eyes. He only lets his sobs out when he knows he's alone, ears of his worried father away from him.  
  
His mind drifts to his mother who hasn't come to see him for over two days -- his mother who he'd heard uncontrollably crying over the phone when he took initiative to call and talk, saying sorry multiple times she couldn't meet him because she couldn't bare seeing him slip away from her. He remembers how she gasped for air, her cries reverberating inside his entirety, her unsaid pleas filtering in without any hidrance.  
  
He wanted to fight -- a tiny part of him still does -- but he acknowledges the way death seemed to always cradle him to sleep, murmuring sweet words of afterlife's comfort as he slips to darkness longer each time, its lips pressed against his ears in sweet, dark mercy. And the feeling trails his eyes during his wake as vibrant blacks that paint his vision before he returns to the light.  
  
The fight to return back to functionality, they always said, was probable -- a matter of controlling whatever anomaly had caused his body to fail. But Donghyuck, at this point, had accepted his fate. And although it hurts, he deems it a must. For if he accepts, he could embrace. For if he embraces, he could treasure. And for if he treasures fully what is left of his days, he could leave with grace. Even if it hurt -- even if each day his pain escalates.  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
The noises coming from the televisiom not far off from Donghyuck's hospital bed enters his ears as soft muffles, a distorted combination of boisterous laughter and enthusiatic replies. He's not really watching, rather just letting time painfully pass in the guise of temporary enjoyment. Nothing the actors and actresses do are actually funny, merely cartoonish actions that feed the envy that pits Donghyuck stomach whenever they move their lithe bodies about.  
  
A knocking on the door is what takes Donghyuck's eyes off the relatively huge, colorful screen, his frail hands pressing buttons to lessen the volume in automation while his head turned to face the newcomer. His lips part before he closes them again, his heart jumping ever so lightly at the unknown man that stands a few feet away from him clad in a baby blue scrub suit while donning an awkward look on his face.  
  
"Who are you?" Donghyuck asks, letting the man's features sink in, the unusual seagle-like shape of his brows and his thin, puckered-looking lips immediately imprinting on his head. There's a silence that follows his question as he feels his world spin slowly around him and the man before him, a little jump in his guts when the man shyly bows his head down. "Hello, I'm Mark Lee. I'll be your designated carer during the day," the man -- Mark -- says, tone lightly high-pitched but soothing at the same time, and Donghyuck doesn't register the smile gracing his lips before replying, "Hello Mark, I'm Donghyuck. I'll be in your care."  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
There's a certain amount of joy you can find in anything, Donghyuck grew up believing. Whether it be during the process of doing something or the product of one's actions. For Donghyuck, amidst everything that's happened to him, he finds joy in Mark -- the entity he had learned to love as he magnificently wilted like the flowers in his garden.  
  
In the span of a year since Mark's coming, Donghyuck had become more decrepit, his breathing declining as the muscles of legs became unresponsive, losing all sense of feeling, numbness creeping up his thighs, the spots of sunken roses in his upper limbs widening in area, painting his skin a gorgeous purple. But, even so, the seed buried under his broken heart had flourished, and Donghyuck felt like it'll be okay -- he'll be okay. He'd found a form of happiness he couldn't describe in words, a lightness that carries him through torturous days of waiting.  
  
"I've got to go, sunshine. I'll see you tomorrow?" Mark says, an edge to his voice that Donghyuck immediately registered. The latter summons a smile, reaching out a hand to glaze the former's cheeks, dragging down until he's tracing Mark's jaw, that familiar feeling of forlorness sinking back to his hollow bones.  
  
Donghyuck observes how the beautiful orange glow of the setting afternoon hits Mark's face, painting his skin a deep mustard-gold, flushing his naturally pale complexion while his eyes lightened to an almond brown. "Yes, please. Come tomorrow, Mark," Donghyuck replies, voice barely above a whisper, creeping past the boundaries that blurred the distinction between what's being alive and living.  
  
A hint of pain shows on Mark's face, his slanted, furrowing brows displaying regret, before the hotness of his palm takes refuge on top of Donghyuck's, barely gripping -- a careful approach, a gentle hold. He does his most to imprint the sensation in his head, slightly fearful that when Mark leaves, only the numbing coldness in his legs remain.  
  
The blue-clad man's lips parts, silent words filtering out without really making any sound, before he closes it, keeping his words to himself. But he leans in no more than a minute later, planting a kiss on Donghyuck's forehead. Their closeness lingers moments after the contact, rapid beartbeat sounding off in the background, and Donghyuck almost tears up at the way Mark's tepid breath fans over his features, audible shakes and hitches reverberating through his ears.  
  
"I'll miss you," Donghyuck says, chuckling at how it appeared as though he'd feel something in the afterlife. He wants to cry then and there, but just like he does with his parents, he doesn't want to Mark to see him suffering, doesn't want him to worry more than he already is. So he closes his eyes, the vision behind his lids of a bright day, a field of flowers surrounding him as the other in white approaches, smile on his lips, security in the air, and the vibrant taste of forever in his tongue.  
  
A bated exhale exits the other's mouth, bouncing off the four corners of the room that has kept Donghyuck captive for months. And his next words were wet, beautiful despair lacing every letter of his, "I love you."  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
Mark had first become Donghyuck's older brother of sorts before he became his friend, someone who he could lean on and listened, as well as guided him. Mark always did, and he'd always been good at it. From the moment he came inside Donghyuck's room and they had a little exhange, the latter immediately knew he could trust him with anything.  
  
Then he had become his friend second before becoming someone who held Donghyuck's heart in his palm, someone who could tint his almost monochrome world with a gorgeous, dreamy rose gold, a person who could make his skin burn with hotness rather than coldness every time he touched him -- the container of his broken heart, a piece of his being, and extension to his soul.  
  
Some nights Donghyuck wonders if he's being too selfish, why he had allowed himself and Mark to emotionally tie themselves to the other, an unsaid promise of eternity that both of them couldn't keep -- not when at any moment, his lungs could give and his body could go unresponsive. More often than not, he'd feel guilty with the way he grasps Mark's hand as though he's pleading -- intimate, but desperate all the same.  
  
He thinks it may be one of the reasons why Mark is responding to him in a manner that fares well with his dying heart. But Mark never fails to comfort him, assure him with his actions rather than words -- delicate holds rather than sweet nothings that tickle the air. It's elating, euphoric in a way that take Donghyuck's breath away. However, it only feeds the worries that had planted themselves in his stomach, their roots in intricate knots, going down and down until the soles of his feet.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" he remembers Mark asking him during one of the nights he was able to stay with Donghyuck until late. He wasn't looking, eyes fixated down below as his hands actively folded a paper boat while Donghyuck tried to do the same. The room was silent then, light buzzing from the discarded television filling the room with some subtle noises from the outside filtering in.  
  
Donghyuck remembers looking at eyes that seemed to hold the universe in them, a certain glow that augmented to Mark's boyish looks. He stared, captured by the sight before him, heart swollen by lethargy and joy. "Is it right for you to indulge me, Mark?" truthfully, Donghyuck asked, and his head tingled, waves of grey chaotically slapping back and forth his mind.  
  
"My time left to indulge in you is miniscule." It wasn't quite the right thing to say, but Donghyuck, for a lack of any better words to sputter out, settled, hoping the message got to Mark somehow.  
  
He recalls the other going silent for a couple of heartbeats, slight discomfort snaking into his bones, before his hand had moved from the paper on his lap to topping Mark's clothed chest. Staring at the baby blue fabric he'd grown to love on his carer, he remembers feeling a barely noticeable thumping buried deep within the other's chest, a little fast, but mostly calm and peaceful.  
  
"This heart, that beating you feel, is real and couldn't be hindered by the temporal nature of human life, Hyuck." Mark's words had been soothing, rippling throughout Donghyuck's body and combing through the waves that threatened to spill over his confidence. "I will continue to hold these emotions dear even after our miniscule time together ends."  
  
Donghyuck had cried after hearing those words, his heart screaming in both pain and happiness -- a hope for another life edging his mind. Another chance. Another him. Another Mark. But the same love worth living for.  
  
⌛•×•⏳  
  
"For if we meet again, I will still treasure you with everything in me. I love you Mark Lee," Donghyuck runs a thumb over the written text on one of the amost two hundred paper boats he'd been able to make on his own for over a year, eyeing the squiggly curves and lines his hand writing had become, hot tears dripping down on some areas of the paper.  
  
He'd made the decision to write something for Mark on each one of his creations, knowing full well that when he would look at the other's face, all things he'd articulated to say would leave his mind. And although it required so much of him physically and emotionally to put in words the contents of his aching heart, he'd choose the searing pain running rampant in his veins over never being able to fully express himself.  
  
Over the following days and weeks, he'd gotten much worse. And Donghyuck knew the moment his chest started to randomly constrict that there wasn't much sand left on his hourglass. Suddenly, the numbers on the calendar on his bedside table seemed to glare at him even more.  
  
He'd drawn a family picture for and wrote letters to his mother and father, pages and pages containing nothing but gratitude and love for them always caring for him, loving him no matter how much of a weight he's been for such a long amount of time. But for Mark, the man he'd entrusted with his heart with and harbored a love much different from familial attachment, he'd thought a letter didn't fit. So he settled to do something meaningful in a different sense.  
  
And with the paper boats he hopes that, even after he sets his last breath, Mark knows how much he loves him.

**Author's Note:**

> OMG. You've reached the end! I hope you weren't too disappointed (I know you are so like... I'M SORRY SORRY!!!)


End file.
